1 Stretched on the bed of grief,
In silence long I lay;
For sore disease and wasting pain
Had worn my strength away.
2 Just o’er the grave I hung;
No pardon met my eyes;
As blessings never greet the slain,
And hope shall never rise.
3 Sweet mercy to my soul
Revealed no charming ray;
Before me rose a long, dark night,
With no succeeding day.
4 I saw beyond the tomb,
The awful Judge appear
Prepared to scan with strict account
My blessings wasted here.
5 Then O how vain appeared
The joys beneath the sky!
Like visions past, like flowers that blow,
When wintry storms are nigh.
6 How mourned my sinking soul
The Sabbath’s hours divine,
The day of grace, that precious day;
Consumed in sense and sin.
7 Then to the Lord I prayed,
And raised a bitter cry—
Hear me, O God, and save my soul,
Lest I forever die.
8 He heard my humble cry;
He saved my soul from death;
To Him I’ll give my heart and hands,
And consecrate my breath.
9 Ye sinners, fear the Lord,
While yet ’tis called today:
Soon will the awful voice of death
Command your souls away.
10 Soon will the harvest close;
The summer soon be o’er;
And soon your injured, angry God
Will hear your prayers no more